Phoebe's Performance

Confrontations

Chapter 9

"Ben," I shout round the flat as I push open the door. Silence is the only response. Glancing at my watch, I wonder how long I'm going to have to wait. I'm determined to sort this rift out between us.

I hear a banging round at the other end of the flat. Okay, so he's probably been sleeping – which doesn't surprise me. I'm sure he was at the practise studio all night. Poor bloke. "Ben!" I yell and rather than announcing myself in his bedroom I stay put. I'll let him get ready. Besides, he can come to me for once. For if I keep chasing Ben, I'll just drive him away and I've gone against all my beliefs by even turning up at the flat. But I've got to get to the bottom of what's gone on.

While I wait for Ben my hand lovingly traces my old upright. It's not dusty and I thought it would have been considering I haven't been near it.

It's been too long.

My piano is an old wooden instrument which I managed to buy second hand from a church because they had gotten the funding to purchase a grand piano.

I've missed this. I've really missed the piano. Now days, everyone I talk to seems to play the piano. Otto. Maestro. Veronica.

The piano is a passion for all of those three people, and yet there was a time when I thought I loved the piano more than anyone else in the world.

Playing the piano like I used to, was like having a soundtrack through my life. Almost every moment has associates with an opus or a sonata I was learning. Even though I'm not into classical music at the moment, boy was I.

Slowly I sit down and stare at the instrument.

I don't even compose with a piano anymore. I just use software on the computer. My heart flutters as I push open the cover. My hands hover over the keys and I wonder if I can still play anymore.

I wonder what it sounds like now and whether this instrument has held its tune. I used to always look after it. After all, I'd wake up so early in the morning, play for hours before school with the practise peddle so I wouldn't wake anyone. Then afterwards I'd play all evening. This instrument was like a drug, addictive and consuming.

I press down on one of the keys and play a scale. Sound reverberates round the room. It's such a beautiful sound, the piano.

My body spasms, my stomach tenses almost immobilising me.

The memory of my parents soars, coming in thick and fast.

The trio of us are in the car. Mum and Dad are in the front and I'm in the back, I lean over the seat and hand Mum a CD, insisting she put it on. Dad's driving, he's not quite paying attention to the road because there's a smirk in his gaze as Mum fiddles with the CD player. She's hopeless with anything remotely technological. All she has to do is slide the CD in and press play.

Technology and Mum aren't a great fit. Eventually after turning the CD over a few times, the player spitting the disc out, the concerto begins to stream out of the speakers.

Maestro believes in learning by hard work and also by osmosis.

The concerto is the piece I'm about to play at the audition.

Mum insists we put the concerto on repeat. Not that she has any idea how to do this but she presses a few buttons. I'm slightly afraid to mention that she's actually changing the radio station.

But she always does this. Even when she's livid, or cross, or has a differing opinion - she always supports me in every single crazy thing that I beg for..